


Dylan

by ZuWang



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZuWang/pseuds/ZuWang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think my mommy killed my baby sister."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A young voice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters, situations and locations you recognize belong to others more talented than I

"So, your last week, huh? How's that feel?" Colby leaned against the bridge railing, enjoying a rare cool moment before the LA summer heat took hold for the day.  
"I don't know. Weird, I guess. But nice," Megan looked sideways at the young agent. "I'm looking forward to the academic life. Slowing down a bit. Fewer dead bodies…"  
Colby chuckled. "Yeah, 'cause that worked for Charlie, and Amita, and Larry, and…" he cut off, laughing, as Megan aimed a playful kick at his butt. Then he nearly jumped out of his skin as something tugged at the pistol he kept tucked in the small of his back. Turning, looking for the threat, Colby grabbed the gun. It took a confused moment before the ex-soldier's mind registered another, greater shock—the "threat" was a small boy, no more than eight years old and short enough to look the agent square in the belly button. Colby took his hand off the weapon and squatted down to look his "attacker" in the eyes, intending to give the boy a VERY stern talk. In the second it took Colby to catch a breath and attempt to settle his pounding heart, the boy reached around the agent's neck and held on—not choking the man, just hugging him closely as if holding on to a lifeline. Colby's speech about not playing with firearms died on his lips. "Ummm…" was what emerged instead.  
A small voice issued from the boy; so quiet that Colby wouldn't have heard it had the boy not whispered directly into his ear. "I think my mommy killed my baby sister."  
Colby jerked back, inadvertently lifting the clinging child as he stood. He looked around, his heart racing again, searching for anyone who might be this boy's parent. Megan caught the slightly panicked look in the man's eyes and reached out to steady him. "What's wrong? Who's this?"  
"Ummm…" repeated Colby, dumbfounded, still searching the area. No adult was paying any attention whatsoever to either the boy or the agent he'd attached himself to. Colby addressed the child, "What's your name?"  
"Dylan."  
When no further information seemed to be forthcoming, Megan jumped into the fray. "Dylan what? Where's your mom, honey?"  
The boy looked at her sternly. "Dylan Robert Lee Chambers. And mommy's at home," He gave Megan an exasperated look, as if wondering how a grown-up could have possibly missed such an obvious fact.  
"Ummm…" Colby was starting to feel like a broken, not to mention somewhat dull, record, "Who's here with you? How old are you Dylan?" He tried to loosen the grip that the boy's arms had around his neck, but quickly gave it up as Dylan clung even tighter. Colby grunted.  
"You're here with me," the exasperated voice was back. "And I'm six and three quarters...almost seven."  
Megan continued to search the area for some responsible adult despite Dylan's words, unwilling to believe the child was really alone in downtown LA. "You're here alone? Your daddy isn't here? Or a babysitter? Or…"  
Now Dylan was angry "NO. I'm not a baby! And I'm not alone. I'm with you…you're FBI policemans right?" a weedling, almost tearful tone entered the boy's voice. "FBI policemans help people? Right?" Dylan wiped his nose on the shoulder of Colby's suit. The agent grimaced.  
"So you came to us for help?" Colby's voice was gentle "With your mom and your sister?" Megan gave Colby a confused look. She obviously hadn't heard Dylan's earlier whisper. "This is my partner Megan. Can you tell her what you told me?"  
Dylan was truly crying now, the six-year-old's reserves of bravery empty, his eyes red and tears running down his cheeks and onto Colby's tie. Between sniffles he said, almost as quietly as the first time, "My mommy killed her. I think she killed my baby sister," as he spoke, Dylan's voice rose slowly from a whisper to a whine to a wail. "Jessa's dead. I saw her. She killed her." The wail went on and on, the words getting less and less coherent until the only sound emerging from Dylan was sobs. Colby hugged the child to his chest. Megan reached out to stroke the boy's hair.  
The two agents looked questioningly at each other over Dylan's head, now buried in Colby's chest, dripping a steady stream of tears onto the once-clean suit. "What do we do now?" mouthed Colby. Megan answered with a worried shrug, still half-heartedly looking for someone, anyone, who might object to two strangers holding their son. Then she cleared her throat. "Dylan?" she asked gently, "Where's home? Where's your house?"  
Dylan's head turned just enough that he could peek sideways at the woman smoothing his hair. His arm lifted, pointing vaguely eastward. "One Seven One Eight Malcolm Avenue, Los Angeles, California, apartment 2B." He recited, as if responding to a teacher's question.  
"Uh huh," she coaxed, "and do you know your telephone number?" The boy buried his head again, shaking it "no" while again wiping his running nose on Colby's tie. "It's OK." Soothed Megan. "What's your mommy's name?"  
The two agents could barely hear the squeaking voice, muffled against Colby's chest. "Mommy." Colby had to smile, just a bit, at that. Of course mommy's name was Mommy. What else would it be? Megan came to a decision. She signaled Colby to precede her into the building. "Well, first things first, I guess. Let's go inside and look up a phone number for 1718 Malcolm Ave, apartment 2B. Call and tell mommy that Dylan's with some policemans."  
Colby tried halfheartedly to put the six-year-old down, but ended up carrying the boy into the FBI foyer, through the metal detectors (much to the amusement of the guards stationed there), and onto an elevator. The ride to the seventh floor was quiet; the only sound muffled crying from a small, scared child.


	2. A sad homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: As stated in the summary and hinted at in chapter one, THIS IS A FICTION ABOUT A DEAD CHILD. It is a mystery. This chapter will have the graphic images warned about in the tags.

Once on their floor, Megan headed toward her computer to find "Mommy's" phone number while Colby took Dylan to the break room to see if anyone had brought food he could pilfer to share with the boy.

Don watched his junior agent and the small child head that way, then shot a curious look at Megan as she approached their work area. "What's up?"

Megan explained what little they knew as she pulled up the FBI's reverse phone lookup system on her computer and entered the address Dylan had given them.

Don's eyebrows drew down in a scowl and he glanced at the break room door. "So, do you think he could be telling the truth? Not that we haven't seen that kind of thing before too many times, but he's just a kid." Don sounded hopeful, "Do you think he may have been wrong about what he saw? Or…well…not telling the truth?"

Megan looked doubtful. "He wasn't lying, or anyway, not intentionally. It's possible that he could have been wrong, though. Maybe he saw his sister sleeping and thought she was dead, or maybe he had a nightmare." Her fingers tapped a few words into the computer. "Anyway, we can find out what's really going on when we take him home….to…" the computer beeped. "Nancy Chambers. Phone number 555-2124. Let me call her to let her know her son is safe, and then Colby and I can take him home. Dylan seems to have…well...become attached to Colby." A smirk turned one corner of her mouth up despite the circumstances.

Don nodded, then glanced toward the break room thinking. "Before you take him home, I think we should see if he'll tell us anything more. You talk to Ms. Chambers on the phone. See if you can get any indication that she might be hiding something…you know what I mean. See if maybe we shouldn't be taking Dylan home right away." The supervisory agent took a deep breath, bracing himself. "I hate this." He said, striding off toward the break room.

The tension in Don's shoulders had to relax a little at the scene that met his eyes when he entered the break room. There, sitting in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room was Colby—Don's big, tough, one-man-tank of a junior agent—with a small blonde boy cuddled on his lap. Colby's suit was rumpled, the front of his once white shirt stained wetly brown. Dylan nestled against Colby's chest, one arm around the agent's neck, the other hand carefully gripping a coffee cup.

Don's eyebrows lifted questioningly.

"Hot chocolate." Colby answered the unspoken question. "VERY hot chocolate."

Don stifled a grin, then remembered why he was there. "Dylan?" he asked, sitting in the other armchair and leaning forward to catch the child's eyes. "My name's Don. I'm Colby's boss. Can I ask you some questions?"

Dylan nodded warily, sloshing just a bit more chocolate over the rim of the mug and down the front of Colby's suit. Colby winced slightly.

"Megan told me that you're worried about your little sister? Could you tell me what you saw that made you think she might…be…um…hurt?" Don stuttered to a halt, not really knowing how to phrase the query. Why do you think your mom murdered a baby? Did you see your mom kill your sister? Did you see her shake the baby? Beat the baby? Shoot the baby? Don knew that any of those unspeakable things was possible, had seen each of them happen at some time in his career. How the Hell do I ask this of a six year old boy? In what world do these questions have to be asked of a little boy?

He glanced up at Colby, finding the same horrified look in his agent's eyes as must be in his own.

Silent tears coursed down Dylan's cheeks and he huddled closer to Colby. His voice was a whisper just loud enough for the two agents to make out. "I saw her. I woke up and saw my mommy. She was holding Jessa too tight. Mommy always says to hold the baby softly…softly like this." He pantomimed rocking a baby. Colby quickly took the mug before more hot chocolate could find its way to his lap. Dylan didn't seem to notice. "But she was holding her like this." Dylan grasped his arms to his small chest, gripping tightly. "And mommy was crying. And Jessa wasn't crying. And Jessa ALWAYS cries. But she wasn't crying, or moving at all. And mommy saw me watching and told me to get some help, to get my other sister Jordan 'cause she's almost a grownup and she can drive but she wasn't in her room and she wasn't in the house and mommy wanted help and I ran all the way to the police place and I ran all the whole way and…and…and the woman and Colby said they're policemans and they can help me." Dylan fell silent, fiercely wiping his eyes, determined to be brave. A tremble in his lip and a white knuckled grip on Colby's tie belied the tough-guy act.

It struck Don, oddly, that Dylan reminded him a bit of the young agent right then—trying so hard to be fierce, but hiding fear and hurt just below the surface.

"We're gonna help you little man." Colby said, and then gently removed Dylan's hand from around his tie, holding the little hand in one of his own as he loosened the tie's strangle hold around his neck. "We're gonna help you, and Jessa, and your mommy."

Megan stuck her head in just then, beckoning to Don with a nod, indicating that the supervisory agent should join her outside the room. Don nodded to her and then said "I'll be right back Dylan. We're gonna help you. I'll be right back." He walked out of the room, leaving the "tough guys" to their hot chocolate for a few moments.

"Whatcha' got Reeves?"

"Mom's frantic. She didn't know where Dylan was, which we expected, but she also doesn't know where another child is either, a girl named…" she looked in her notebook. "Jordan. And she says she called 911 but LAPD hasn't showed up yet. She wouldn't say anything about a baby, though. Wouldn't answer any questions about that at all. I think it might be an avoidance reaction. Sometimes trauma survivors' brains just try not to acknowledge a painful event at all. Like it never even happened. And a baby dying would certainly be traumatic, even if she had nothing to do with it."

"Do you think we can take Dylan there?"

She glanced at the boy through the glass wall of the break room. He sat on Colby's lap sipping from a mug very, very carefully. She nodded. "I think he should stay outside with Colby until we know a bit more about what's going on, but yes, I think Ms. Chambers needs to see that he's safe. I don't think there's any danger, but we'll go carefully. You coming with?"

Don nodded. "Not quite the quiet last week you'd hoped for, huh."

"Maybe it's nothing. Maybe the baby's fine." Megan looked doubtful.

Nodding again, Don replied thoughtfully, "We can hope so, but I think Dylan might be right. There's something wrong with his baby sister and both he and his mom are terrified." He knocked on the glass to get Colby's attention and beckoned the young agent to join them.

Colby stood, once again carrying his little charge, trying to unstick his damp shirt from his chest, and headed for the door.

By the time Don's SUV pulled up at the apartment building, the agents couldn't help but be impressed with the little guy. Dylan had walked-run! three quarters of a mile down busy downtown LA streets to get to the FBI building. When asked, Dylan shyly admitted he knew the building's function because he wanted to be "a FBI policeman" when he grew up. His mother had often pointed out the building as she drove Dylan to school ("1st grade!") in the mornings. Before bed, she would tell him stories about FBI agents helping people. The "head FBI policeman" in the stories was always named Dylan.

"But that's wrong." Dylan added, thoughtfully. "The head FBI is named Don!"

This pronouncement brought an actual laugh from the anxious agents, the first truly light moment in a dark morning. Smiles faded, though, as 1718 Malcolm Avenue appeared in front of them. A woman in a bathrobe paced in front of the building, wringing her hands and looking, panicked, toward them.

Dylan shouted "MOMMY!" and tried to get out of the car even before it stopped, the child-locks (actually meant to keep suspects in the car) saving the boy from a nasty fall to the pavement. Colby, seated in the back seat beside Dylan, reached over to calm him. "Hey, why don't we let Don and Megan and mommy talk for a minute before we go out there."

Dylan looked confused, but stopped tugging on the door for a second.

Colby went on "You can tell me some stories about head FBI guy Dylan! Would you tell me one?"

Don smirked and Megan stifled a laugh, then both looks became resigned as the two agents got out of the SUV. "Ms. Chambers?" asked Don, approaching the distraught woman.

"Are you Agent Reeves?" She ignored Don, reaching out for Megan instead, and then looked past the agents at the car. Heavily tinted windows kept her from seeing her son. "Do you have Dylan with you? Is he OK? Did you find him?"

"Ms. Chambers," began Don again, "My name is Agent Don Eppes. Agent Reeves is my partner. Yes, we've found Dylan, and he's fine. We need to talk to you for a moment, though, before we bring him to you. Could we go inside and sit down?"

With a yearning look at the SUV, Nancy Chambers nodded, then turned and led them up an outside stairway and into a neat apartment. The agents joined her in a well-kept living room, looking around carefully as they followed. Each noted the diaper-changing table to one side of the room.

"Ms. Chambers," asked Megan very gently, "where is Jessa?"

Ms. Chambers jumped, then glanced quickly down a hallway toward what must be the bedrooms, then down at the floor. She hadn't met either agent's eyes with her own yet. "Jessa? She's here. She's in her room."

Don spoke as carefully as he could, trying not to spook the anxious woman. "Dylan said Jessa might be hurt. Is she OK?"

Again without looking up, Ms. Chambers sighed. "No. Jessa's not OK." The statement was matter-of-fact. Yes, the sky is blue. No, I don't want peas.

"May we see Jessa, Ms. Chambers?" Megan asked.

Ms. Chambers nodded again, her eyes on the floor. She led them down the hall to a small, clean bedroom. The room contained a boy-sized bed with blue blankets and dinosaur sheets on one wall and a wooden crib on another. In the crib was a baby girl, not moving, her eyes closed. The girl could not have been more than six or seven months old.

Don reached into the crib, touching the tiny face. It was cold. He shook his head, and Ms. Chambers let out a cry. "JESSA! Oh, God!" Megan caught the woman's arm, barely keeping her from collapsing to the floor. Half supporting Ms. Chambers, she led the sobbing woman out of the room.

Don stood by the crib, watching tiny Jessa and opened his cell phone. "Colby? I think you should bring Dylan up…no. No pulse, she's been gone a while…No, I don't think the mom had anything to do with it. I think maybe…no, I'm not going to guess. We'll wait for the medical team to tell us how she died, but Dylan won't be in danger with all of us here anyway…she really should see her son." Hanging up, Don made his next call to the coroner.


	3. How do you tell someone?

Megan half led, half carried Ms. Chambers back to the living room, the distraught woman not seeming even to notice their progress. The agent lowered the woman to a seat on the sofa, then sat beside her. "What happened Ms Chambers?"

No answer.

"Nancy?"

The woman looked up as if just remembering the agent was there.

"What happened to Jessa, Nancy?"

"I don't know." She said, almost pleading. For the first time since they had arrived, Nancy focused red-rimmed eyes on Megan's. "I found her this morning, when I went to wake Dylan for school. I always take him to school. Today's the last day of the year. He should be in school." She seemed to visibly collect herself, then continued. "I reached in to check Jessa's diaper and she was so cold… And she didn't move, even when I picked her up and I knew. Dylan woke up, and I told him to get Jordan and he just…disappeared! I didn't know where he went, and then I couldn't find Jordan either!"

Just then, the door cracked open and a small blonde head peeked through. Seeing his mother, Dylan threw the door open and ran to climb into her lap. A rather disheveled looking Colby followed more cautiously. He cocked an eyebrow at Megan, who nodded him toward the hallway and the bedroom beyond. Colby strode on, taking a deep breath, to the sound of Dylan excitedly telling his mother about the morning.

Finding Don in a child's bedroom, phone to ear, Colby steeled himself and walked in. Baby Jessa's tiny body lay still in the crib. Colby stared at her, and then watched his boss pacing back and forth, listening to someone on the other end of the phone line, before donning latex gloves and beginning a slow, reluctant search of the room. He was leaning down to pick up the trashcan next to the crib when he saw Dylan peering around the doorframe silently. He left the can where it was and walked to the door, squatting on his heels to speak with the child eye-to-eye. "Dylan, you should go back and stay with your mother, OK?"

He was staring at the crib. "She's dead, isn't she." It was a statement, not a question.

Colby opened his mouth to recite a standard-issue, non-committal, reassuring phrase; something to make the boy feel better, then closed it again. Nothing was going to make this child feel better. "Yeah, I'm sorry honey, she is." Dylan lurched into the agent's arms, holding on as he had earlier, but he didn't cry this time. Colby tried to reassure the boy. "You did real good, Dylan. You did everything you could, and we're going to help you out; you and your mom. But you need to go back to the living room for right now. Can you do that for me?"

Dylan stepped back, nodded sagely, and paced back down the hall to where his mother was sitting on the couch. The FBI policeman (police woman?), Megan, was talking to mommy and writing in a notebook.

"When was the last time you saw Jordan?"

"Last night. She had a date. I told her not to be late because she had school this morning. But you know how teenagers are. She left at about six, right after I got home from work. I went to bed at eleven. She wasn't home yet."

"How old is Jordan?" Megan was surprised. This woman didn't seem old enough to have a teenaged daughter.

"Seventeen. She's a junior in high school." The woman looked up, searching for understanding on Megan's face. "I know she's not old enough to be out that late—I know, but she's always been so headstrong. Just like me when I was that age. So much like me."

"You were young when you had Jordan?"

"I was the same age then as Jordan is now." She shrugged. "And I made most of the same mistakes. I don't know how to tell her not to. I mean, how do I tell her not to stay out late when I… but she's doing better than I did. I never graduated High School. She watches Dylan after school every day, and she's a B student. A's and B's…" She faded out, looking anxiously out the window as if expecting to see her eldest daughter striding up the stairs and coming home. Her daughter did not appear.

"And, um, is there…is Dylan's and Jessa's father around?" She didn't expect there to be a father in the picture, but was again surprised.

"Rob's in Iraq. He's in the Army." The sobbing began again, Ms. Chambers' shoulders shaking as she cried. "I don't know how I'm going to even get hold of him to…tell him…that…" she was unable to go on. Dylan climbed into her arms and held her—the man of the house, protecting his family.

"Red Cross" came a voice from the hallway. Colby was standing in the opening from the hall to the living room. "The Red Cross can get a message to him, wherever he is. I'll help you call them. We'll figure out what to say, and they'll get him home." Colby sounded like he spoke from experience. Megan resolved to speak to the younger agent about that later.

Colby passed a note to Megan as he walked toward the door and the SUV beyond. Megan opened the folded paper. "Coroner and CSTs inbound. ETA five minutes." She folded the note again, put it in her pocket and spoke. "Nancy, Dylan, why don't we go somewhere and talk. There are going to be some people coming in here. Is there a neighbor's apartment we could go to? Or a family member nearby?"

"My mom and stepdad live downstairs. We can go there." Nancy wiped her eyes. "I have to tell them what happened. I don't know how I'm going to do that. I just…" She looked at Dylan. "Honey, would you go get mommy's purse from my bedroom? And my keys?"

The boy ran toward the back of the apartment and Nancy met Megan's eyes.

"How do I tell them she's dead?" She whispered. "They'll be crazy. And what do I tell Rob? How do I…" she looked at Megan. "You tell people things like this, right? How do you tell a person that his granddaughter died? His daughter? She's just a baby."


	4. The Investigation Underway

The Crime Scene Techs arrived as Colby stood behind the bureau vehicles and watched Megan lead Dylan and Ms. Chambers unsteadily toward the apartment directly below the one the Chambers lived in. He finished changing his shirt, throwing on an FBI polo grabbed from his desk on the way over here, and led the CSTs up the stairs.

Don met him as he entered the apartment. "I want you and David looking for the sister, Jordan. Find what you need in her room, and then get a description and photo to LAPD and head back to the office. With what happened to the baby, we can't rule out kidnapping, or even double homicide. I've called social services to come talk to Dylan, but it's gonna take them a while to get here. We're gonna have to decide if he stays here or goes back to the office with us until they can find time for him." Both agents understood the delay, though it pleased neither of them. In a city the size of LA, with all of the problems that come along with such a city, Social Services was always overworked and understaffed.Colby nodded to Don and headed down the hall, in search of some clue about a missing teenager.

*************

Megan knocked on the door of apartment 1B, placing a steadying hand on Nancy's shoulder and a restraining one on Dylan's. A minute later the door was opened by a fifty-something aged woman holding the collar of a very small, very LOUD, non-descript mongrel dog.

The woman saw her daughter's face and reached for her, wordlessly hugging Nancy while she cried. Nancy was unable to form the words that would explain the tears.

"My name is Agent Megan Reeves. I'm with the FBI. May we come in?" asked Megan. "I'm afraid we have some very bad news."

Later, much later, Megan would contrast how Mrs. Bush, Nancy's mother, learned about her granddaughter's death with how Sgt. Robert Chambers learned the same thing. Mrs. Bush and, soon after, Mr. Bush were told as gently as possible, by their weeping daughter and a sympathetic, though probing FBI profiler. Sgt. Chambers was called out of a tent in a desert by his commander in the middle of the night. The commander held a message, all in capital letters, delivered by the American Red Cross:

TO: CHAMBERS, ROBERT E, SGT, USA

FM: CHAMBERS, NANCY A, CIV, LOS ANGELES CA

SERVICEMAN'S WIFE REQUESTS SERVICEMAN'S PRESENCE DUE TO DEATH OF DAUGHTER, JESSICA RAIN CHAMBERS, AGE 7 MOS AT APROX 0600 HOURS PACIFIC TIME TODAY. DEATH CONFIRMED BY LA CORONER. CAUSE OF DEATH UNDETERMINED AT THIS TIME.

Sgt. Chambers was loaded, still stunned, onto a helicopter within hours, headed for Baghdad and from there a plane home. It would take him three days to arrive.

Mrs. Bush held Nancy, rocking her gently while Mr. Bush began brewing a pot of coffee for the FBI agent who had shattered the calm of their home. Among them, the family answered question after question while Dylan played with the dog on the living room floor.

No, baby Jessa hadn't been sick. Yes, Jordan sometimes stayed out very late, though never before had she been gone all night. Yes, Nancy had tried to call her on her cell-it went to voicemail. Yes, they knew her date-his name was Ethan Rubi and he'd always been such a good kid. Such a good influence after that last boy.

The Bushes and Nancy glanced at each other for just a moment when they mentioned that last boy. The glance might have been missed by a person not trained to notice body language and nuance, but Megan noted it.

"The last boy. When did Jordan break up with him?"

Nancy answered immediately "about Halloween time. Maybe 8 months ago. He was... well, I'm glad he's not around anymore. He didn't treat Jordan good. But she fell hard for him. You don't think she could have gone with him do you? You don't think he could have taken her?"

Megan laid a comforting hand on Nancy's arm. "I don't think anything yet. I'm just trying to get an idea of who Jordan could be with, where she might be. Do you have this boy's name, maybe a cell phone number? I'll also want a number for Ethan Rubi."

Nancy shook her head no. "His name is Danny Johns, but I don't have a number. Maybe in Jordan's room. Maybe she's got it somewhere."

Megan excused herself for a moment and stepped off to the side of the room to call Don and give him the information she had gathered, then accepted a cup of coffee from Mr. Bush and returned to the gentle questioning.

Upstairs, Don shut his cell and headed to Jordan's bedroom to share the latest intel with Colby. He found the agent looking pensively through a photo album pulled from one of the shelves that lined the room. Don cleared his throat and Colby jumped as if he had not heard the older agent's approach.

"Don. Look at this." He held out the album, and Don walked over to take a closer look at the page his junior agent had been so fascinated with.

"What am I looking at?" The page was covered with photos of what appeared to be a track team, several high-school aged girls in green and gold running clothes smiling at the camera, flashing peace signs and generally clowning around.

Colby pointed to one of the girls, in the center of several of the photos. "This is Jordan, and the date-time stamps on the photos say they were taken a year ago September; about twenty-one months ago. And this…" he turned to a page a few further on in the book. "This is from Jordan's sixteenth birthday party, last May." The page showed Jordan, smiling at the camera, her arms around Dylan; and Jordan hugging her mother and a man who was probably her father; and Jordan blowing out sixteen candles on a cake just large enough to contain them all. These photos seemed happy enough, but although they were subdued compared to the boisterous montage of the track team, nothing struck Don as really odd. He looked a question at Colby.

"Her sixteenth birthday, Don. Sweet sixteen? That's a huge deal-my sister had about two thirds of her high school class at her sweet sixteen party. Jordan's got a pile of friends in those team photos." He flipped back to that page.

"Where were they last May?" Don thought, "It could be nothing—the family might just be the type that celebrates together instead of having big parties—but it could also indicate Jordan was depressed, or sick maybe." Don quickly outlined what he'd learned from Megan, then asked, "what else you got?"

"A cell phone." Colby held up an evidence bag. "Either Jordan left it behind intentionally, or she was forced to, or she forgot it. I've never heard of a teenager who would intentionally leave their cell phone behind though. It was off, but when I turned it on there were six messages in the voice mail. One from a kid named Ethan; that fits if she was going out with him; and five from Nancy Chambers starting at about ten o'clock last night."

"OK, I want you to head back to the office…" Don trailed off as his cell phone rang. He opened it with his usual "Eppes…yeah, David. What do you know?...That was fast…yeah…We'll look for a bottle here, bag it and send it back your way for the techs…OK, I think we're going to send the kid back to the office to wait on Social Services. I don't know what's going on, but I'm getting a really bad feeling…OK, Colby is headed your way. He'll brief you…OK." He hung up and gave Colby a significant look. "The coroner has a preliminary cause of death on Jessa Chambers."

Colby quirked an eyebrow. "That was fast. They only took the body, like, half an hour ago."

"Well, in this case it didn't take long. The coroner found a pill shoved half-way down the baby's throat and stuck tight. An antidepressant called Paxil." Both men thought quickly about the suspicions raised by the photo album. Maybe the girl was depressed—and maybe taking medication? "Jessa probably choked on the pill, but the medical examiner isn't ready to rule out poisoning either yet. This just went from crib death and a possible runaway to a murder, or kidnapping and murder. Take a look around, we'll see if we can find a bottle of Paxil for the lab techs, and then I want you to head back to the office, get David, and go see if you can find the boyfriend. We need to find this girl."

Neither agent mentioned the thought that had occurred to both—one daughter murdered, another missing. Maybe Jordan was dead too, and maybe the only reason Dylan wasn't was because he'd hiked to the FBI for help. And the only one with access to all three kids was their mother.


	5. A Lead

Colby hitched a ride back to the office with one of the CSTs. In his pocket was an evidence bag containing a large, half-empty bottle of Paxil, found in the master bathroom's medicine cabinet. The prescription on the bottle identified its owner as Nancy Chambers.

On the seat next to Colby sat Dylan, staring out the window quietly. The boy hadn't understood most of what had happened back at his grandmother's apartment, but he did understand this; his mommy wasn't allowed to take care of him anymore. The FBI policemen were taking him away, and he didn't know when he could go home again. When Colby had told his mommy that, she had started crying again, and shouting at Colby, and trying to hit him. But Colby had taken him anyway, and now he was in the car and Dylan didn't understand that at all. Colby had been so nice to him earlier. He'd said he'd help Jessa, but Jessa was dead anyway. And he'd said he'd help Jordan, but Don had told Megan that Jordan might be dead too. Don and Megan didn't know he'd heard them, but Dylan wasn't a baby. He listened, even when adults thought he didn't. And Colby had also said he'd help mommy, but instead he'd made mommy cry.

Colby watched the six-year-old, not knowing what to say. The agent didn't really know how to talk to children at the best of times, and with this kid's whole world collapsing, these were hardly the best of times. Dylan wasn't crying, which both impressed and worried Colby. He was putting on a brave act, but he was just a little boy. Colby turned away and looked out his own window. He knew that finding Jordan, dead or alive, would be the key to this case. He had to put aside this small boy's pain so that he could do his job and find the girl.

They reached the Federal Building quickly. In the parking lot, Colby and Dylan got out of the CST's truck. Colby tried to take Dylan's hand to walk him into the building, but the boy pulled away. Instead, Colby put a guiding hand on the child's back and carried a backpack he'd grabbed from Dylan's room before they'd taken him. The pack had a change of clothes, some photos, and a stuffed velociraptor Colby had found on Dylan's bed. Hopefully, Dylan would go home before any of the other things would be needed, but Colby figured the boy could use the stuffed animal—if for no other reason, so Dylan could wipe his nose on it rather than on Colby's shirt.

The two proceeded through the lobby and into an elevator. Dylan silently pushed the button for the seventh floor. Colby smiled—kid had a good memory. When they exited the elevator, David waved at Colby from their cubicle, then quirked a questioning look when he noticed the six-year-old. Colby guided Dylan to the workspace, then explained "Waiting for Social Services. They'll be here when they can get here."

With a resigned tilt to his head, David responded "OooooKay then." He stuck out a hand to the boy. "I'm David." Dylan took the hand and shook it as hard as he could—just like daddy had taught him—but didn't say a word. David's smile faded. He looked back to Colby, who shook his head, and addressed the next words to his partner. "We have someone to look after him while we work?"

That got Dylan's attention. He looked up, panicked. He didn't know if he liked Colby anymore, but he didn't want him to go, either. Colby had said he'd help. Moreover, Dylan just didn't want to be alone with someone he didn't know. "I'll be quiet." He practically begged. "You can work. I'll just…" he rolled a third chair into the agents' already crowded workspace from a nearby cubicle. "I'll sit right here. And think. Quietly."

Colby looked to David and shrugged. It was fine with him if the boy wanted to sit with them; at least until they headed out to the field. Social Services should be there soon anyway. Besides which, Colby kind of liked the kid. An Army brat himself, Colby sort of felt like he should be looking out for Dylan.

David opened his mouth to begin to brief Colby, but the younger agent forestalled him with a wave of his hand. "Before we start, I've gotta make a call." He dug a battered card from the back of his wallet and picked up the phone.

"American Red Cross" Came the voice on the other end.

"Yeah." David heard his partner say. "I've got to get a message to a soldier in Iraq. It's an emergency."

When he'd finished the call, he shrugged at David. "I feel kinda responsible for it. Anyway, the Red Cross will send the guy home."

Dylan heard that. His eyes lit up. "Daddy's coming home?" He sounded as hopeful as he had that morning. Maybe Colby really was going to help. "Really?"

"Really. He'll be home just as soon as they can get him here. It's going to take a while but they'll get him home. Until then you gotta be strong for me, OK?" The boy actually smiled at that. Colby smiled back before blushing and turning to his partner, daring David with a look to say anything.

David shrugged back and began to brief Colby, careful to keep his voice low and his words too big for the six-year-old to understand. Dylan listened carefully, missing far less than either agent thought he would. "Laboratory results for the juvenile came back. Serum was positive for Paxil, but in concentrations too low to be COD. That's gonna be asphyxiation due to embedded object in the esophagus."

Colby quickly translated—the baby hadn't lived long enough to be poisoned. She'd choked on the pill someone tried to stick down her throat.

David continued, "Number on the cell belongs to Ethan Rubi, 2120 West St. No priors, no record at all. His fingerprints aren't in AFIS, so no way to trace where he might have been until we find him. There were a bunch of different fingerprints all over the crib, the room, the bathroom…gonna take the CSTs some time to sort through all that, but this one was interesting." David pointed to his computer screen, tilting it away from where Dylan was sitting, talking to his stuffed dinosaur. The screen showed mug shots—front and side—of a twenty-something, scruffy-looking man with blonde hair and a black eye. "Daniel Jonathan Rust, age 26. Two convictions for assault, one with a weapon, and one conviction for attempted statutory rape. He met a 14-year-old online and took her to a hotel. The father was LAPD. He followed them and got a couple of punches in before other officers got there to arrest the guy."

"Rust is lucky it wasn't me—I would have shot him!" Colby commented, and David nodded agreement.

"His prints were in both Jordan's and the younger kids' room, including on the crib."

"Danny!" Shouted Dylan, who had peeked at the screen around the agents' backs while they spoke. "That's Danny! Jordan really llliiiikkkessss him." The sing-song voice of a younger brother teasing his older sister was classic. "What's wrong with his eye?"

The agents focused their attention on Dylan, making the boy squirm a little under the intensity of their stares. Then, very casually, Colby asked "Dylan, have ya seen Danny lately? Has he come to your house?"

"Yeah, he was there yesterday. But Jordan said not to tell mommy, 'cause mommy doesn't like Danny. I like Danny though. He gives me things. He lets me eat ice cream even though mommy says I can't have any except on weekends." He looked at Colby warily, not at all sure whether he could trust the man or not. "You won't tell mommy I had ice cream yesterday, will you?"

Colby looked at David, alarm crossing both of the agents' faces. If Danny had given one child Paxil, what would have stopped him from feeding it to two? Ice cream would have been a perfect hiding place for the medication, if Danny had crushed the pills first. "We won't tell mommy." Colby assured Dylan. "But I need to ask you for a favor, though. One that you're going to have to be really brave for. Can you be really brave for me?" Colby glanced at David. The man was already on the phone, calling for the warrant they were going to need ASAP.

Dylan looked Colby right in the eye and nodded solemnly; the brave soldier once more.


	6. Go Fish

The necessary warrant came through two hours later, at about the same time a woman from Social Services arrived in Colby and David's cubicle. David finished the phone call he'd been making to the FBI's in-house lab, then stood to introduce himself to the woman, moving the stuffed velociraptor off of the chair Dylan had been using to make room for her. "Hi, you must be here for Dylan Chambers. I'm Agent David Sinclair." He held out a hand and she shook it firmly.

"Julie Aimes." She handed David a card. "LA Department of Children and Families." She looked around, noting the obvious lack of six-year-old, and continued "Is Dylan here?"

David chuckled, just a bit. "Yeah, he'll be back in a sec. My partner took him to the little agents' room. We've had a bit of an unexpected issue." David explained about their suspicions regarding Danny and the Paxil, "and so he's in the bathroom giving us a…um…sample right now. He's going to need to give us some blood, too, but we figured we'd wait for you for that one."

Ms. Aimes nodded, reluctantly. "One sister dead, one missing, he's been taken away from his mother, and now you're going to stick him with a needle. Poor kid has to be a wreck."

The "wreck" raced into the cubicle just then, slamming into David so hard that his rolling chair bounced off his small desk and grabbing the velociraptor from David's lap. Dylan didn't look scared or unhappy, so much as in charge and determined.

Colby followed MUCH more slowly, holding a sample cup away from himself in an outstretched hand. His face was a picture of disgust. There was a damp spot at the bottom of his left pant leg.David stifled a grin as his partner very carefully slipped the capped cup into a plastic evidence bag, then rummaged through his desk for the spare pair of kakis he kept there, gave David a look and headed back the way he'd come.

Dylan sat down in Colby's chair and started spinning it round and round. He didn't look at the woman who shared the cubicle with David and himself.

"Dylan," said David, "this is Ms. Aimes. She's here to help you out for a while. She's going to keep and eye on you, maybe take you somewhere to get some food…Dylan?" The boy stopped spinning and looked up, angrily, into David's eyes. "Would you like to say 'hello' to Ms. Aimes?"

"NO." The spinning began again. David thought he'd be sick if he whirled around that fast and that much.

David looked at Ms. Aimes, a pained expression on his face, and opened his mouth to say something more, but the woman shook her head slightly to cut him off. Instead, Ms. Aimes simply sat quietly, taking a deck of cards from her purse and dealing seven to herself and seven to David. David took the cards, looking confused but ready to help.

"Do you have any twos?" asked Ms. Aimes with a significant look at David.

"uuuhhhh...oh. No. Go fish" responded David, catching on to the pattern-a card game known to almost every American child. Ms. Aimes took a card from the pile.

Dylan's spinning slowed.

It was David's turn. "Do you have any eights?" Ms. Aimes handed the agent a card as Colby strolled their way wearing the third outfit he'd worn in six hours. Dylan stopped spinning entirely, trying to peek at David's hand without being noticed.

"Do you have any sixes?" asked Ms. Aimes.

"Nope, go fish" said David.

Dylan stood up, his sense of justice offended. "Yes you do! They're right there! You're cheating!"

"Cheating at Go Fish, David?" asked Colby, leaning on the edge of their cubicle with an amused smile. "I'm never playing poker with you again!"

"I wasn't cheating" answered David. "I just forgot how to play this game." He showed Dylan his cards. "Maybe you could help me out? Just until I remember."

Dylan took the cards and began to list the rules of the game as he played with Ms. Aimes. It took only a little more time before the whole group, cards now dealt to each of the four, headed toward the elevators. The game continued as Dylan was seated in a chair in the laboratory. It barely paused as a lab tech inserted a needle-Dylan winced, looked at Colby, and didn't cry-and removed two vials of blood from the boy's arm. It continued as the group went back to the seventh floor.

The agents carefully excused themselves as Dylan and Ms. Aimes sat down in one of the interrogation rooms, Dylan explaining excitedly about the differences between dinosaurs and birds. David grinned as the two agents headed back to their workspace to gear up for an afternoon of field work.

"What?" Demanded Colby. "What?"

"Nothin' man. Nothin' at all." David chuckled, spreading his hands in a mockery of innocence. "It's just...you goin' soft on me?"

Colby smacked him. Hard.

"Now, now, you know there's no hitting." David was now laughing outright. "What would the boy think? OUCH!" David winced as Colby hit him again in the same spot. He didn't stop laughing though.


	7. Chapter 7

The Rubi residence was a small row house off of a main street a few blocks from the federal building. Considering how close it was, it would have been faster to walk than it was to drive in LA traffic, but this was LA, and besides, the agency sedan with all the pretty flashing lights tended to encourage the proper reaction from those with whom an agent might want to speak. Colby and David drew up outside the house with lights flashing and siren on. When they exited the car, both made certain their badges and firearms were easily visible.

David knocked on the door. A middle-aged balding man answered it with a curious look over the agents' shoulders at the car. "Can I help you?"

David answered him, pulling out his badge. "I'm Special Agent Sinclair, this is Special Agent Granger. Are you the father of Ethan Rubi?"

The man looked startled. "Yes. He's not here right now. Is he OK? Is he hurt?"

"No, as far as we know he's not hurt, but we do need to talk to him. Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah. He's at school." The man looked at his watch. "Or anyway, he's on his way home from school. He's due back in a few minutes." He looked more wary now. "Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"Would you mind if we wait for him?" Asked Colby. "It's really important we talk to him as soon as possible." The man opened the door wider, and they followed him into the foyer. "When was the last time you saw Ethan, Mr. Rubi?"

"This morning, when he left for school." Mr. Rubi was becoming agitated. "Listen, I'm his father. If Ethan's in any kind of trouble you have to tell me."

Just then, a battered Japanese hatchback pulled into the townhouse's drive. The agents and Mr. Rubi watched as a tall curly-haired boy emerged, his arms overflowing with books, clothes, bags and assorted athletic equipment. He stumbled toward the door, looking over his shoulder at the FBI sedan, its lights still flashing. He dropped a filthy pair of gym socks on the path. As he nearly tripped over the threshold of the door, he asked "Dad, what's going on? Are you OK?"

Mr. Rubi took some of the fragrant load from his son. "Ethan, these men are from the FBI. They want to talk to you, but they haven't yet told me why."

David and Colby subtly moved to position themselves on either side of the teenager, making Ethan turn his head from right to left to see them both. He looked confused. "FBI? Why would the FBI want to talk to me?" A book began to slide off the pile, and Ethan stepped forward to drop the rest on a flight of stairs. The agents readjusted their positions. "Is something wrong?" Ethan addressed David, but Colby answered, causing the teenager to turn toward him.

"Do you know a girl named Jordan Chambers?"

"Yeah." Ethan looked a bit embarrassed. "She's… well…she used to be my girlfriend."

"Used to be?" This time it was David who spoke.

Ethan turned back toward him. "Well, yeah…umm…" He shrugged. "She…kinda stood me up last night." A surprised look crossed the boy's face, oddly hopeful and worried at the same time. "Is she OK? Did something happen to her? I just figured she didn't want to see me anymore, but if something happened…"

Colby's turn. "When did you last see or talk to Jordan?"

"Yesterday at school. She was going to go pick up her little brother and then we were going to hang out after her mom got home from work. But she didn't show up. I called her, but she never called me back. I just figured she didn't want to…" Ethan trailed off. "Is she OK?"

"Her mom reported her missing this morning." David decided not to go into details. Let the kid come up with something. Colby watched closely from behind Ethan.

"Missing? What do you mean?" The boy looked from one agent to the other. "She wasn't at school, but I just figured…she's gone?" Another realization came over the boy. "Do you think I did something to her?"

"Did you?" Colby's voice was stern.

"NO!" Ethan looked panicked now. He looked at his father, trying to convince his dad of his innocence more even than the FBI agents who flanked him. "No, I didn't do anything! I went to the spot we always meet, but she wasn't there. I called her and left a message on her cell. Then I came home. I was totally bummed, but I didn't do anything. You have to find her!"

"What time did you get back last night?" David again.

"Ummm…like seven?"

"Where is the spot you usually meet?" Colby's turn.

Ethan's head was swinging back and forth as if he was a spectator at a tennis match. "Over by the school. She doesn't have a car, but she catches the bus and we meet at the bus stop after my soccer practices."

Colby and David looked at each other. A timeline for the girl's disappearance was beginning to take shape, but neither agent thought that this kid had anything to do with it. His presence at soccer practice would be easy enough to confirm, and Jordan's mother said she left their apartment at six—an hour before she would have been at the school.

One more question, this one asked more gently than the others. David pulled the mug shot out of his back pocket. "Have you ever seen this man?"

"Yeah. Danny. He's Jordan's ex." The voice was flat. Ethan obviously didn't like Jordan's ex, though that could just be normal jealousy. "He's her daughter's dad, not that he acts like it."

David's eyes reflected his confusion. "Jordan's got a daughter?"

"Yeah. A little girl named Jessa. She's like six months old." He looked at David. "What's wrong?"


	8. Timeline

It was a measure of how startled David was that he answered without pausing. "Jessa's Jordan's daughter?"

"Yeah. You didn't know?" Ethan shrugged. "He got her pregnant and then he left. Her mom's helping her raise the baby."

Colby recovered faster than his partner did, the truth fitting into his earlier observations of the photo album. Two years ago, Jordan was a popular member of the track team. One year ago, she was pregnant. That's why she had been alone for her sixteenth birthday. If Danny Rust had fathered a baby he didn't want and Jordan had tried to get him to step up to the responsibility...that was certainly a motive for murder. "Danny's the father." He pointed at the photo in David's hand. "Have you seen Danny lately?"

"No." Ethan answered. "He doesn't go to school with us. I don't really know him, except through Jordan. Do you think...do you guys think...did he do something to her? I mean, she was really angry at Danny, but I don't think he ever hurt her. Physically, I mean."

David's mind began racing. No kidding he doesn't go to your school. The guy's in his twenties. I wonder how old Jordan thinks he is. Jordan was fifteen when she got pregnant. At the least, statutory rape. At worst...David shook off that thought. Jordan was alive until they proved otherwise. "We're investigating everything at this point."

As the two agents left the Rubi home, David's cell phone rang. He answered it with his standard "Sinclair." Listening, David wrote furiously in his notebook while Colby drove toward their next stop. A minute went by before he spoke again. "Thanks for getting that back to us so fast. We're on the way to the address he has listed in the sex offender registry. You'll update Don? Good. Thanks." He hung up. "Rust's prints are all over the Paxil bottle. There's Paxil in Dylan's blood and urine. The techs also found semen on Jordan's bed, but it'll take at least 24 hours before they can get a DNA profile on it. Somehow, I don't think it's going to turn out to be Ethan's."

Under a statute known as Megan's Law, every man or woman convicted of certain crimes in California, including "lewd and lascivious conduct" with a minor is required to register their place of residence with the state. Theoretically, each address is tracked by law enforcement and most are listed on a website accessible to anyone. "Theoretically," David and Colby knew, because most of the addresses were self-reported. With 3,390 registrants for the City of Los Angeles alone (and more than 11,000 in LA County), the addresses weren't always checked regularly. They were often outdated and sometimes just plain wrong. The two agents were headed toward the last known address of Daniel Rust. They did not have high hopes for finding the man still there.

As they'd expected, 6820 Baird St Apartment A was a dead end. The young couple living there had no idea who the man in the photo was. They'd been renting the apartment for three months, and it had been empty before then. Colby and David thanked them and headed back to the car.

As Colby drove back toward the Federal Building, David called Don. After hanging up the phone, Don initiated a BOLO for Daniel Jonathan Rust, a.k.a. Danny Johns, wanted for questioning by the FBI in connection with the murder of a child, statutory rape and the kidnapping of a teenager. Alerts went to every police entity in town, along with a description of Rust and one of Jordan. Next, Don began tracing a timeline on the war room's whiteboard.

3:00pm Jordan leaves school. Picks up Dylan from school and takes bus home.

Between 3:45pm and 6pm Danny Rust arrives. Dylan eats ice cream laced with Paxil. Sometime later, Rust leaves.

6:00pm Nancy Chambers returns from work with Jessa. Jordan leaves for date with Ethan. Jordan never arrives for date.

7:10pm Ethan calls Jordan's cell phone, leaves message.

8:00pm Nancy puts Jessa in crib and tucks Dylan into bed.

9:45pm Nancy leaves the first of what will be five messages on Jordan's cell phone.

11:00pm Nancy takes prescribed antidepressant (Paxil) and goes to bed.

Sometime between 4:00am and 6:30am, someone forces one Paxil into Jessa's mouth and throat, choking her.

7:00am Nancy discovers Jessa's body, wakes Dylan who runs to FBI. Don sighs, rubbing his hand through his hair. Too much is missing from this timeline.

He checks his watch. 4:24pm; Jordan has been missing almost 21 hours. Where the Hell is she now?

"You know that drives us all nuts, right?" Don swung toward the door, startled, as Megan joined him in the war room, a thick file in her hands. Don put his hand over his watch sheepishly. As Megan passed him the file she continued, "Rust's bio. He's a local-born and raised in LA-and hasn't shown any inclination to leave the city despite a long history of trouble with LAPD. Thought maybe an agent with some fugitive hunting experience might be able to point our wandering teammates toward a likely location for the guy."

Don skimmed the file. Not much family around. Dead mother, absent father. Known associates..."This is interesting." Don turned the file sideways so Megan could read what he pointed at. "He was bailed out of jail three separate times by the same guy." Don flipped his cell phone open and hit speed dial four.

"Sinclair...You have an address?" He looked at Colby, then began signaling for his partner to turn the car around. Colby flipped on the lights and pulled a quick U turn, hopping the grassy median with a jolt. David assured Don he had it and snapped his phone shut. "You know I hate it when you do that, right?"

Colby grinned. "No sense of adventure."

"Maybe not, but I've got a lot more just plain sense than you do. Head north on the 101. We need to check out a friend of Rust's up in Echo Park."

Colby groaned. It was now almost 5pm. The 101 was going to be a nightmare.


	9. A bit of the ganja

It was well after 6pm when David and Colby arrived at the address, a crappy house in a rather nice neighborhood. The neighbors probably hate this guy, thought David as they approached the door. Overgrown lawn, rusted mailbox, in need of paint. It's hard enough to sell a house these days without the neighbor being a slob.

There were two cars in the driveway. Either one would have cost an FBI agent's yearly salary. Slob or not, this guy had cash. Considering the company he kept, David's assumption was "drug dealer."

It's never a fun thing for a cop to knock on a drug dealer's front door. They don't tend to react well to that sort of visitor. David looked at Colby, who raised an eyebrow. Neither had to say a word-they'd both come to the same conclusion. The men kept their hands on their respective weapons as they walked up the path to the front door.

Once on the porch, David stood to the right of the door and Colby to the left. Colby knocked, politely. No need to make the inhabitants jumpy. They might shoot. Or run. Colby hated when they ran-especially when it was 90 degrees out. "Yeah?" came a man's voice through the door.

"FBI. We'd like to talk..." He didn't even get to finish the sentence. There was a clatter, a voice farther back in the house's interior, and the sound of a toilet flushing. Colby signaled to David, telling him to stay in front while Colby ran around back, grumbling about the heat. David made a quick call to control, informing them of the situation and requesting backup before pounding on the door. "FBI! Open this door or I will open it!" A crash and a shout from the direction of the back yard told him Colby had found someone.

Colby rounded the corner into the back yard as a short, fat man came out of a door with his arms full. The man saw the agent, dropped his armload, and turned as if to reenter the house at a run. He made it about three steps as, shouting "freeze!" Colby tackled him. "You stupid, stupid man," started Colby, snapping cuffs on the fat man, "we just wanted to talk to you. And now we've gotta arrest you." He pointed toward the pile the man had dropped in his haste, several Ziploc bags of plant matter spilling out of a brown shopping bag. "And there's a LOT of paperwork involved with that stuff. I hate paperwork."

"You OK back there?" David called from the front.

"Yeah-I'm thinking we've got cause to take a look inside though." He looked at the fat man, still sitting on the ground, then took out another pair of handcuffs and fastened the man to a nearby railing. "Stay."

David went in the front door, gun drawn, as Colby did the same in back. The sound of the toilet flushing yet again met both agents' ears a second later. David turned toward the sound as Colby cleared the back of the house, going from room to room, finding nothing but a moldy pile of dishes in the sink. David followed the sound of flushing and scrambling feet down a hallway off the left side of the living room, into a master bedroom and to an enormous bathroom beyond.

A forty-something woman turned, startled, from the toilet, into which she'd been tossing the powdery contents of a pile of small Ziploc bags. "GET OUT!" She shrieked. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! YOU (insert curses here. Some of you are far more creative than I)!" She ran toward David, her fists flailing, her face contorted into a drug-laced rage. "YOU..."

The woman didn't finish her second invective as David neatly sidestepped her attempt to rush him, took her right arm and swung it behind her. She collapsed forward onto the tile floor. "Nice one." Said Colby, behind him. Colby covered the woman with his Springfield as David bound her wrists in handcuffs. "Rest of the house is empty. I'm gonna go fetch my friend outside, and then we can sort this mess out."

Colby headed back out to the yard while David picked his charge up off the bathroom floor. She kicked and tried to bite him. "None of that." He held her from behind and guided her, growling like a caged animal, toward the living room.

Sirens could be heard approaching the house as David and Colby seated their respective prisoners on the living room couch. The woman continued to hurl a loud and, David thought, very creative string of invectives which the agents pretended not to hear. Colby glanced out the window at the approaching marked police cruisers and then at David questioningly.

David chuckled a bit. "That would be the backup I called for. That you didn't wait for."

Colby shrugged and turned his attention to the man and woman on the couch. The woman was now doubled forward over her knees, trying to bring her cuffed wrists up, backward, over her head. Since human arms don't really bend that way, Colby ignored her efforts and focused on the man, whose driver's license identified him as Samuel James. "Believe it or not, we just wanted to talk to you. If you had just answered the door, and answered our questions, we probably would have just thanked you and gone on our way. But now…" he glanced at the woman. She had given up twisting her arms backward and was now trying to scoot the handcuffs under her backside, presumably to get her hands around front by going under her feet. That worked sometimes, but most people's arms aren't long enough. Colby shifted his attention back to the man.

David pulled the photo of Rust out of his pocket and showed it to the man. "Have you seen Danny lately?"

The response was exactly as the agents expected it to be—vague and obfuscating. "Huh? Danny who? I don't know that guy."

"Yeah," replied Colby. "We know. Complete stranger. Never heard of him. Except you have. You've bailed him out of jail three times in the past year. You used a credit card, in your own name, in two different county jails, where you were recorded on camera. You wanna take another look at the photo?"

David opened the front door to four uniformed LAPD officers, pointed them toward the back yard and master bathroom with a few words. He came back to the living room as the man answered "Yeah. OK. Yeah. I didn't recognize him with that shiner on his eye. OK, so I know Danny. But I haven't seen him in months. If you find him, tell him he owes me twenty bucks."

"Uh huh." David glanced at Colby. "Well, see, it's pretty important that we find Danny. Important enough that maybe we talk to the Judge you're about to meet about that bag in the back yard. Tell him that you've been very helpful to us. If we find Danny real fast."

The man's eyes shifted from David to Colby and back. "Why? What'd he do?"

David suppressed a grin.

Just then, two of the police officers came back into the living room, each carrying a large black garbage bag. Green-brown leaves poked out of the tops of the bags. One of the cops grinned at the FBI agents. This was obviously going to be a good day for LAPD. The officers dropped their cargoes and headed back toward the rear of the house.

Colby gave the bags a significant glance, then looked back at the man on the couch. "That looks like a bit more than the medical limit. And you don't look like a pharmacist."

David continued, "Seems like you might want to chat with us a while before seeing that judge."

Surprisingly, the sight of about half a dozen plants worth of pot seemed to quiet the struggling woman. She stared at the garbage bags longingly and mumbled "Danny was s'posed to pick those up."

Colby and David's attention shifted to the woman. "Yeah?" asked David. "It's Danny's pot? When was he supposed to pick it up?"

The woman seemed surprised to have been addressed by the agent. She began screaming again, the four letter words interspersed with wordless screeching. Just recognizable in among the invective were the words "He said he's gonna get it outta here." And later "Three o'clock he said. But was he here?"

She seemed to forget that the agents and the fat man were in the room with her, but her screaming didn't stop. Its target simply shifted to Danny Rust. Apparently, the man hadn't shown up to take delivery of the two (no, Colby thought, as the police officers returned—four!) garbage bags of marijuana he'd agreed to buy. At least not yet. The sound of sirens came again as the glimmer of an idea formed in both David and Colby's minds.


	10. Found

Don's SUV pulled up to the front of the James' house. He parked it next to two marked LAPD cruisers ( _the neighbors must LOVE this_ he thought), and he and Megan got out. They were walking toward the front door when David opened it, releasing the strong aroma of marijuana and the sound of a loud (AND FILTHY!) voice into the quiet neighborhood.

Don's eyebrows quirked up. "You boys called for some help?"

David smiled. "Yeah. I think we've made LAPD's year, and I think we might have a line on Rust." He led his boss into the living room. Pointing, he began, "In this corner we have Mr. Sam James and his significant other, whose name we haven't yet gotten." He motioned to the fat man and the woman on the couch. Don got a bit too close and the woman surged forward, trying to bite his arm. He stepped back. Next, David gestured to the pile of garbage bags (three now, though that seemed to be all of it) in the middle of the room "And over in this corner we have these fine American business-people's fine American product—about 35 pounds of pot, already sold to Daniel Rust. Unfortunately, Mr. Rust is a bit late in picking up his shipment, but the proprietors of this family business seem fairly sure he'll be around. You see, Rust has already paid for the drugs."

David was smiling, and Don returned it with his patented grin. "So what you're saying is that you'd like permission to set up a little surprise for Danny Rust."

"That's the general idea."

"Sounds like a good one." Don became serious again. He pointed at the LAPD officers, standing to one side of the tableau. "OK, first step, let's get those patrol cars out of sight."

Once the patrol cars and his own SUV were parked two blocks away and around the corner (one of the cops stayed to keep watch on the cars and the still screaming woman they'd plunked down in the back seat of one of them), the group got down to real planning. An hour or so later, Don grumbled "now all we need is for Rust to actually show up."

It didn't take long. Don had only had to check his wristwatch about 16 times before the doorbell rang. On Don's nod, Sam James answered the door.

Rust stepped in, looked at the pile in the living room, and wet his lips. "It's all here?"

James nodded, trying to look like he wasn't about to pass out from nerves. Concealed around corners, Don and three cops held their breath. "Yeah. It's there. Pull your car around back and we'll load up." Rust headed out to pull his car into the back yard while Don took a deep breath.

The LAPD officers lowered their weapons from the half-ready positions they'd taken. Through his earpiece, Don heard Megan's voice. "The car is empty. Jordan's not with him."

"Got it," answered Don. "Ready boys?" He got affirmatives from David and Colby, down the street in their FBI sedan.

Megan watched from behind a shed as Rust's car backed up to the house's rear door and Rust and James loaded the garbage bags into the trunk. Neither said a word. When the bags were loaded, Rust took a quick look around, got back in his car, and pulled off. He didn't notice the black sedan following about a block behind him.

"Headed south on Douglas St," reported David over the comlink. The fat man had reentered the house, Megan right behind him. One of the LAPD officers snapped cuffs on him and began walking toward where his partner was waiting with their car.

"Hey," the man snapped at Don. "You remember what you said."

Don nodded at him. The man had a bad night to look forward to—LAPD had recovered almost a quarter of a kilo of cocaine in addition to the pot, not to mention whatever the woman had managed to flush—but he'd earned more than a few kind words from Don to the DA. His sentence would be long, but not as long as it could have been.

The policeman led the felon out into the fading LA twilight.

Don checked his watch. It was almost 9pm. Megan watched him do it and sighed. Don blushed, just a little. The two agents headed toward Don's SUV, leaving processing of the drug dealers' house to LAPD.

"Headed west on Wallace." Reported David's voice over Megan's earpiece as she and Don hopped into Don's SUV.

"Got it." Responded Don. "We're going to head over to Bellevue and see if we can pick him up before he gets onto the 101."

The SUV intercepted Rust's blue sedan and followed it onto the highway, allowing Colby to turn off down a side street. The more often the agents could trade off their surveillance slots, the less likely Rust was to realize he was being followed. Rust headed north on the 101 with Don and Megan close behind. He was driving carefully lest he be pulled over for speeding with three bags of Mary Jane in his trunk. Colby crossed under the freeway to parallel it on Temple. As soon as Rust and Don were out of sight, David flipped on the siren and lights, and Colby hit the gas, hoping that the light traffic this time of night would allow them to get past Rust on the side street and hop back onto the 101 to take their turn behind the man's car.

In the end, Colby didn't end up needing to get on the 101 in front of Rust. He and David caught up with Don's SUV exiting the highway behind Rust's sedan ten minutes later. The SUV turned away from the trail nonchalantly, and Colby tucked in behind Rust to follow him east on Silver Lake Blvd. A few minutes later, Colby cruised by Rust as he parked in front of an apartment building on the corner of Marathon and Robinson. David called the location in to Don and Megan. Colby took a left at the next corner and parked the car in an available spot. Don and Megan weren't long in joining them, and a raid team was only a few minutes behind the team leader's SUV.

A few questions asked of a helpful neighbor indicated that Rust's apartment was on the top floor. _Isn't it always that way_ thought Colby, _Guy's always on the top floor of a walkup when we've gotta wear body armor and carry heavy raid equipment._ _Especially when it's hot out_.

The team approached slowly, taking up positions on one side of a hallway and down a staircase. Don raised three fingers, then dropped them one at a time, counting down.

As the last finger fell, Colby slammed a ram into the apartment door. Twelve heavily armed men and women rushed into the apartment, screaming "FBI!" at the top of their lungs. Rust never had a chance. A member of the raid team had him on the ground and was slamming handcuffs on the man's wrists within seconds.

Jordan was in the bathroom, physically unharmed, but terrified. She cried as David led her out of the apartment and down the stairs.

She didn't even look at Rust, sprawled on the floor.


	11. Fin

When the team arrived back at headquarters, Don and Megan escorted Danny Rust, handcuffed, into the building. Colby and David followed a minute later with Jordan, who was still crying. They exited two different elevators on the seventh floor at almost the same time. Don grabbed Rust roughly by the arm as the man lunged toward Jordan with a shouted "I told you B! I told you I shouldn't go back for that pot! I'm telling 'em everything!"

  
The agents separated the two, Don practically dragging Rust toward an interrogation room, Colby guiding Jordan to another.

  
"Jordan!" Shrieked Dylan, running toward his sister as Jordan, Colby and David walked past the break room. "They said they'd find you and they did! They said so!"

  
Colby looked at Ms. Aimes, and then at his watch. "Wasn't Dylan supposed to be at a…well…" he couldn't say "group home" in front of the boy and his sister.

  
Ms. Aimes shrugged a bit. "When Don and Megan said you thought you'd found Jordan, I figured it could wait a while so that we could let Dylan see her." She looked doubtful. There was something on the two agents' faces. "I was wondering if I would be taking both siblings with me, but now I don't think so."

  
Colby squatted down to look Dylan in the eye. "Hey, little man. Do you mind if David and I talk to Jordan for just a few minutes?" Dylan nodded, confused again. He reached out to grab his sister's hand, but Jordan didn't look at him, instead focusing over the boy's head. Tears leaked slowly down her face. Dylan's hand sought out Ms. Aimes' instead.

  
Colby and David guided Jordan into a glass walled interrogation room. From where she now sat, Jordan could easily see Rust in a similar room with Don and Megan. It was obvious that Rust was singing like a bird. Jordan stared.

  
Colby sat down across the table from the teenager. "You went with him, didn't you." It wasn't a question, and Jordan didn't answer it. "Did he tell you he was going to hurt Jessa?"

  
Jordan looked up, startled, at that. "He hurt Jessa?" Colby nodded. Jordan's expression changed, but not, as Colby would have expected, to grief. The first look to actually cross the girl's face was, perhaps, relief. That was interesting. The look changed quickly to a parody of sadness, but Jordan's tears did not increase. Not a great actress thought David.

  
Colby decided to press his advantage. "Jordan, Jessa's dead." The statement didn't really seem to surprise the girl, though she did pretend to be upset by the bluntness. "There are two sets of fingerprints on the murder weapon. Danny's, and your mother's." He let that sink in for a minute. "We're pretty sure Danny was the one who killed her, but just in case, you and Dylan need to stay with us for a while. You know, in case the real murderer was your mom."

  
That got her. Jordan answered before she even thought. "Mom didn't do it! You can't take Dylan away from mom! She loves him!"

  
"And she doesn't love you?" Came David's response, rapid-fire, pressing the girl before she could get her bearings again.

  
"She loves HIM! HER son! HER HUSBAND'S son! HE'S the perfect one." She was screaming now. She tried to stand, but David's hand on her shoulder kept her in the seat. "And HE…" she pointed through the glass wall toward where Rust sat, still talking away to Don. "HE wouldn't even LOOK at his daughter! But he looked at me! He was going to marry me! But…" Jordan realized what she'd been saying.

  
Colby filled in the remainder of the sentence. "But if you got rid of Jessa, Danny would love you again. Right?"

  
All of the rage seemed to drain out of the teenager. She sagged into her chair. She nodded.

  
"Why don't you tell us what happened, Jordan?" David's voice was gentle, coaxing.

  
Jordan stared at her hands, resting on the table. She never looked up as she told the story, her voice monotone. "Danny picked me up from school yesterday, and we went and got Dylan. When we got home, Danny gave Dylan some ice cream with some of my mom's medicine in it. That always makes Dylan fall asleep, so Danny and I can be together."

  
Well, that explains the semen in her bed, thought Colby. They put Dylan to sleep so that they could have sex without disturbing the kid. Ahhh, family values.

  
Jordan continued, "After, we were talking about Jessa. I wanted him to be a real dad, like Dylan's dad is, but he said that Jessa wasn't his. But she is, 'cause I never was with anyone else. He said he loved me, but that he was never gonna marry me because Jessa wasn't his and he couldn't raise another man's daughter. Then Dylan was waking up, so Danny left." She took a breath. The agents waited. "Mom got home with Jessa and I told her I had a date and I went to Danny's apartment. He said we could run away together. But I had to prove I loved him first. So, in the morning, I went home and I gave Jessa the medicine. I figured she'd just go to sleep, the way Dylan does, and I'd put a pillow over her mouth. I saw it on TV. You put a pillow over the baby's mouth and she just doesn't wake up, and the police call it 'crib death.' The baby never even knows. But when I gave her the medicine, it kind of got stuck. And Jessa was moving her arms and legs all over the place, and she turned blue. But then she stopped moving…"

  
The confession lasted for three hours. Somewhere during that time, Colby excused himself.

  
He found Dylan and Ms. Aimes watching television in one of the conference rooms. He squatted in front of Dylan's chair. "Hey little man."  
"Colby! Where's Jordan? We always watch this show together. You found her! You said you would, but I didn't think you would because you said a bunch of things but you said you'd find her and you did. Where is she? Is she going to drive us home? Ms. Aimes says we can probably go home tonight. And that's good because Mommy was really mad at you and now she doesn't have to be mad at you and..." Colby let the boy's words run down, unable to get a word in during the mad rush of childhood excitement. Truth was, what Colby had to say wasn't anything he really was in a hurry to tell Dylan anyway.

  
Once Dylan's monologue wandered to an end-Colby figured the kid hadn't breathed once in the past two minutes-Colby couldn't put it off any longer. "Dylan, I need you to listen to me." Dylan looked at the agent, tilting his head curiously. "Ms. Aimes is going to take you home now. But Jordan is going to have to stay with us for a while. We've got to talk to her about Jessa."

  
"We'll wait for her! Won't we Ms. Aimes? We'll wait, and then Jordan and me'll surprise Mommy together!" He looked at the TV. "Will you let me watch Batman? Mommy doesn't let me because I'm supposed to do my homework, but then you can talk to Jordan and then we'll go home after Batman!"

  
Colby sighed. "No, little man. It's gonna take a lot longer than that. Jordan might have to stay with us for a few days."

  
"A few days?" Dylan was seeming less excited, and more angry, by the second. "You're gonna take her, aren't you? You're gonna take her away from Mommy like you took me away. And you'll make Mommy cry, too! You're not helping! You said you'd help Jessa, but Jessa's dead and now you're gonna make Mommy cry again!"

  
Before Colby could react, the small boy's tiny fist connected with the agent's cheek. The punch wasn't hard-Colby outweighed Dylan by at least 150 pounds-but Colby was unbalanced, squatting on his heels, and the boy's rage was shocking. Colby sat down, hard, and put up his hands to fend off the six-year-old. He couldn't even bring himself to restrain the boy. Ms. Aimes came forward, pulling Dylan away and into a tight hug. Over Dylan's head, the woman nodded to Colby. He took the advice, leaving the room and walking sadly back to work.

  
Colby often thought about Dylan over the years he spent in LA, but he never saw the little boy again. For all of those years, he wondered if Dylan still wanted to be an FBI "policeman" when he grew up.

  
THE END.


End file.
